


Accidentally on Purpose

by Merytsetesh



Series: How to Damn Your Soul (Without Even Trying) [2]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Panty Kink, Reference to past medical trauma, Smut is in Chapter 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merytsetesh/pseuds/Merytsetesh
Summary: Cardinal Copia has succeeded in bringing Papa Emeritus III back from the dead. Now they must keep his return a secret until they make their move against Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator. But will the upcoming tour ruin their plans? And how long can Papa's ghoul disguise last?
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Papa Emeritus III
Series: How to Damn Your Soul (Without Even Trying) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707898
Comments: 57
Kudos: 72





	1. A Stroke of Genius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I wasn’t going to continue this universe because I didn’t want to get trapped in writing a long, plot heavy fic where Copia and Papa III conspire to take back the church from Nihil and Imperator because 1) I am awful at finishing long fics, and 2) other authors have done it better. But here we are. Inspired by Popia's arrival.
> 
> EDIT on May 7: Introduced Papa's name earlier in Chapter 1, though Copia still refers to him as Papa. First names will happen for both as they get more comfortable with each other.

“You know, when I suggested I ‘assist you with a special task,’ this isn’t what I had in mind,” the ghoul muttered from behind the piles of papers spread out over the floor.

Copia was in his office. It had been almost two weeks since the ritual that resurrected Papa Emeritus III. Copia had done his best to carry on as usual, but it had been Hell (no pun intended) acting like he wasn't in the midst of plotting to take over the Satanic Church. He’d been avoiding Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil for that exact reason, while trying to act like he _wasn’t_ avoiding them. Luckily, they hadn’t needed him for anything, so secluding himself in his office did the trick while he, Undine, and Papa put their heads together to plan.

So far they hadn’t managed much, since they had agreed it was best for the water ghoul to be seen with Copia as little as possible. Undine had confirmed that several other ghouls already knew of Papa’s return, having witnessed the ritual in the woods, but they had kept a tight lip on the subject and intended to keep it that way. According to Undine, there was a rumor going around that some of the Princes of Hell (and possibly even the big man himself) were involved with Papa’s return, and no one want to poke _that_ anthill with a stick. Undine was confident the ghouls who knew their secret were loyal, but Copia was still uneasy. Undine promised to keep their eyes and ears open for any hints of betrayal, and Papa in turn swore to stay hidden in Copia’s rooms.

Speaking of the devil… Copia was adapting to life with his new roommate as well as could be expected. He was a solitary man by nature, and Papa was…not. Waking up that afternoon after the ritual Copia had nearly fallen out of bed when he realized who he was spooning. For his part Papa handled it with the easy grace of a man used to waking up in strange beds. He helped himself to Copia’s wardrobe, then dug around in his kitchenette until he had a pan of scrambled eggs cooking and a pot of coffee on drip for them both. He made himself so at home Copia started to feel like the guest.

Being in such close quarters with Papa ("Please, call me Marcelo. We are friends now, are we not?" "Yes, Papa. I mean, yes, Marcelo.") was...interesting. Copia had never been particularly close to him prior to his death, and now they were practically living in each other’s pockets. When Copia left in the mornings to work, Papa tried his best to keep occupied in Copia’s rather boring rooms. He read Copia’s trashy paperback romances. He browsed (and judged) his vinyl collection. He even made a guest account on the tablet he found on Copia’s nightstand so he could kill time online. Copia wasn’t even mad that he didn't ask first, because at least with the internet Papa was less likely to pester him the moment he walked in the door, absolutely starved for human interaction.

They hadn’t had any sex since the couch incident, but Copia knew it was probably only a matter of time. The tension between them was thick, but Copia didn’t give in. Stubbornly, he didn’t want to be just a convenient body to Papa, the only port in a storm as it were. So he ignored the exaggerated groans Papa made in the shower and the way the man would lounge around his rooms in only Copia’s bathrobe, the tie barely closed. At night he let Papa spoon up behind him, and woke up to the weight of his erection against his ass, or vice versa. And if recalling that moment fueled a couple of his own shower fantasies, well, Papa didn’t have to know.

It wasn’t the worst living situation to be stuck in. Copia had certainly had worse roommates before. At least Papa cleaned up after himself, though it had taken Copia pointing out the towel on the floor and half empty water glasses scattered around his rooms for Papa to get out of the habit of expecting a maid to take care of it. In fact, once he realized no Sibling of Sin could be allowed in Copia’s rooms to clean as long as he was hidden there, he took up the job himself. He changed the sheets and threw the dirty laundry in the hamper to be placed in the hall for pick up. He cleaned the dishes and put them away. He dusted and polished the wooden furniture. When he got bored enough to start rearranging Copia’s books shelves, not by author or subject, but by the height of the spine, Copia decided it was time to rob the sacristy for a ghoul mask.

Things improved after Papa could at least leave Copia’s room. Tired of staring at the same four walls, he’d opted to join Copia in his office for a change of scenery, but the cardinal wasn’t much of a conversationalist while working. After complaining of boredom for the third time, Copia handed him an overstuffed file folder and told him to put the contents in chronological order. It spoke volumes about his desperation that Papa actually did it, and over the next few days he happily accompanied Copia to work.

Now in his ghoul disguise, Papa sat in the floor next to Copia’s desk. Papers were fanned out around him, with one large towering stack at his left. On his right was a pack of paperclips, several colors of sticky note pads, and a marker. He was sorting the stack into a series of smaller piles, and every so often he would paperclip a pile, slap a colored sticky note on the front, label it, and pass it off to Copia.

Copia squinted at one such pile, trying read Papa’s nearly illegible handwriting. Did that sticky note say ‘Jan.’ or ‘Jun.’? “What exactly did you have in mind then?”

Papa shrugged. “Sucking you off under your desk?”

“Uh huh.” It probably said Jun., since he was pretty sure he’d already filed the forms from January.

“My talents are wasted like this,” said Papa, but to his credit he kept working while he complained. “You could be having an orgasm right now.”

“And what would I do with you the rest of the day?”

“Let me feed you grapes and fix you a coffee?”

Bemused, Copia twirled his pen. “You seem oddly pleased with the idea of being my pet ghoul.”

“It is a life of few responsibilities other than how best to please you, Your Eminence. I am buta humble, lowly ghoul unworthy of you attention. I grovel at your feet just for the chance to kiss your ring. And other places.” He gave Copia a lascivious wink.

“Ha! Humble.”

There was a knock on the door. Playing the role of obedient servant, Papa hopped up to answer it.

It was Sister Imperator.

It was a good thing Papa was wearing a mask, Copia thought, because the sudden tension in Papa’s shoulders could be mistaken for nerves. New ghouls tended to be a little skittish around upper clergy, and Sister Imperator was notoriously strict. He hid his reaction well though, and offered a quick bow as he opened the door wider for her. She looked surprised to see a ghoul answer Copia’s door, but quickly recovered.

“Good morning, Sister Imperator. How can I help you?” said Copia to draw her attention away from Papa as he shuffled back to his ring of papers on the floor. It didn’t work.

“Cardinal, if you needed help with paperwork I’m sure one of the siblings would be happy to assist you.”

“No need to bother them. This ghoul is…perfectly suitable for my needs.” He wiggled his eyebrows a bit, letting Sister Imperator draw her own conclusions.

She wrinkled her nose. “He must be a very…special ghoul.”

His tactic worked though. Dismissing the ghoul’s presence in the room, she turned to Copia and cleared her throat. “Cardinal, it's nearly time to get back on the road. The London show is less than a month away, then it’s touring for the next year and a half. Are you ready?”

He gestured to his desk. “I’m finalizing things now. In fact,” he said, an idea forming, “I will be taking this ghoul with me as my personal assistant.” Imperator opened her mouth to speak, but Copia cut in before she could raise any objections. “He’s a quintessence ghoul, quite talented. Should we have any stage mishaps he can play guitar or do backing vocals.”

“We have never needed to send a backup ghoul on tour before.”

“But I was not the head of the Ghost project before,” said Copia, wagging his finger. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened with Emeritus III, do we? Having to scramble to find a replacement mid tour?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Papa freeze, then deliberately continue sorting papers. “Would you not say it is worth the added expense of bringing one more ghoul if it means avoiding such a situation? After all, better to have him and not need him, than need him and not have him!”

Sister Imperator visibly brightened at his explanation. “This is exactly the kind of practical thinking the Church needs, Cardinal. I knew we made the right decision with you. Excellent work.”

“Than you, Sister. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, I simply wanted to check in. Be sure to submit any last orders before Friday so they can be finalized in time. Then get plenty of rest! We need you in top form for this tour. Good day, Cardinal.” Without waiting for Copia see her out she left, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the click of her heels on the flagstone disappeared, Papa stood up. With deceptive casualness, he crossed his arms and leaned his hip against Copia’s desk. “Tell me, Cardinal,” Papa said slowly. “Are you a halfwit?

Copia was taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“No?” Papa faked astonishment. “Then you must be a _complete idiot,_ because I can think of no other reason why you would think it would be a good idea for _me_ to accompany you on tour. The tour that my father, the man who had me _murdered_ , whom we are trying to overthrow, has dragged his ancient ass onto for one last grab at the spotlight? Do I need to spell out why this could be a problem?” The mask hide Papa’s expression, but not the venom in his voice, and by the last sentence he was hissing so loudly that Copia could see the spit fly.

“When you put it that way it does sound like a bad plan—b-but hear me out!” he blurted when it looked like Papa was ready to crawl over the desk to strangle him with his own pellegrina. “We know Papa Nihil isn’t the real threat—it’s Sister Imperator. She’s the brains of the operation, so the further you are from her the better. Nihil hardly knows one ghoul from the other, as long as you keep the mask on you’ll be fine.”

“What about the other ghouls? We can hardly hope to hide my real identity from them.”

“Undine said they aren’t a problem.”

“No, Undine said the ones who saw the ritual can keep a secret. There are still plenty of ghouls who don’t know the truth of my return, including your band ghouls.”

“I trust them.”

Papa slammed his fist onto Copia’s desk so hard the wood creaked. “Copia, _it was a ghoul that did it!_ Ghouls killed my brothers and I. Imperator came into the room, spouted some…some… _bullshit_ about all of us going on tour again,” he sputtered, so furious he could barely get the words out. “Next thing I know a ghoul is jabbing _a fucking needle_ into my neck and I’m blacking out. Because whatever they injected me with wasn’t what killed me, Copia. I swear to Satan I was still alive when they started…” Papa took a shaky breath. “When the mortician…”

Copia was speechless at this revelation.

Papa removed his mask to rub at his eyes, and Copia pretended not to see the wetness on his lashes. “We cannot trust the ghouls. Not when there are traitors in their ranks.”

Gently, Copia placed his hand on Papa’s clenched fist. “Then that is exactly why you should come with me. I can protect you from seven ghouls better than hundreds. But it won’t come to that.”

“You want to protect me? How sweet.” It was meant to sound snide, but missed the mark.

Copia didn’t call him out on it. Instead, he withdrew his hand and snapped his fingers. “Oh! But I haven’t even told you the real reason I want you to come on tour.”

“Ah, now we come to the truth of the matter. Do not lie, Copia, I know you only want me for my body.” The good humor was back, and Papa hopped up onto Copia’s desk to sprawl across it, half reclining like a pinup.

Copia didn’t let it distract him. “Stop flirting and listen. I am to be Papa, yes? Everything is agreed and signed. All that is left is for Nihil to die, leaving me to claim the miter. How... _unfortunate_ it would be for our dear Papa to pass away while abroad. Unfortunate, but not unexpected. After all, he is not a young man anymore, and not in the best of health.”

As Copia explained, Papa’s face transformed into a vicious grin. “You are right. It will be easier to get rid of him on the road where there are less eyes and ears. For Satan’s sake, the man has an oxygen tank and insists on playing a saxophone solo! We might not even have to do anything and he’ll keel over! Copia, you are brilliant.”

It was rare praise, and Copia couldn’t help but puff up a little. In his opinion, he didn’t get nearly enough credit for the amount of work he did for the ministry. “It is a good plan, isn’t it?”

“Fishing for compliments now?”

“A little, eh, ‘ego’ stroking never hurt anyone.” He hinted and laughed at his own double entendre.

“Ah, so it _is_ my body you are after. In that case…” Papa replaced his mask and slid off the desk.“This ghoul is happy to serve.”

Copia grinned. “Go lock the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only end scenes two ways: characters about to bang, or characters falling asleep after banging. That’s it. If it seems weird that Copia changed his mind about sex with Papa, he just wanted Papa to want him for him, not just because he was the only person around. But Papa going down on him because he was impressed by Copia's Big Sexy Brain coming up with a plan? That's the ultimate ego boost.
> 
> Next chapter the boys will be on tour. Sorry, no under-the-desk-blow-job scene! I know we here in the Ghost fandom are big into those. Maybe next chapter I'll do something smutty involving those underthings people keep throwing on stage to Copia.


	2. Interrupted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV switch to Papa, which means I had to give him a first name. I shamelessly stole the name Marcelo from Ratikait because it means “hammer” and isn’t that just perfect for Papa III? Also everything they write is amazing, go read their stuff.

A Pale Tour Named Death was a bigger, more ambitious tour cycle than any the Ghost project had undertaken so far. Small venues and local festivals had been left behind in favor of stadiums where they were the headliner. Shows were sold out, and merchandise was flying off the booth tables faster than it could be restocked. By all accounts the tour was a roaring success; quite literally, as the arena shook at the foundation from the cheers of so many people at tonight’s ritual. The crowed roiled like an ocean wave to the beat of the music. Phones flashed as people tried to capture every moment on camera. Hands tossed devil horns and reached out in supplication across the barrier. The energy was infectious, and from where he watched backstage Papa Emeritus III was just as caught up in it.

For two months now Marcelo had traveled with Ghost, but not as its frontman, or even a band member. Disguised as a ghoul, his official position on paper was Copia’s personal assistant, but he did very little assisting.

“This here is my, ah, special friend. He will be joining us on tour to help out here and there.” Copia had introduced him to the band.

“Well hello there, special boy,” Cumulus had purred, and from then on Marcelo had been known as Special ghoul. He helped the backline crew during soundcheck and ran messages between the tour manager and Copia, who as it turned out was an absolute fanatical taskmaster pre-show. Everything had to be just so or their asses were toast, but Special had a knack for knowing how Copia wanted something done and handling issues before the cardinal could even learn there was a problem. For that he was much loved by the stage crews and other ghouls. None of them, however, knew his true identity.

The real reason Marcelo was on the tour was to keep him as far away from the Linköping Abbey and certain people therein as possible. As far as anyone knew Papa Emeritus III was dead; no one except Cardinal Copia, who had been the one to resurrect him. Now he was Marcelo’s protector and co-conspirator, and as grateful as Marcelo felt, a part of him also resented the man.

As he watched, Copia stepped onto the monitor speaker to introduce Mummy Dust. It was a speech he’d given at every stop in one form of another, and once, not too long ago, it had been Marcelo’s.

He was honest enough with himself to admit it hurt. He wanted so badly to be up there, to be the one in the spotlight mesmerizing the audience. It was the ultimate high, the biggest ego boost in the world, seeing hundreds, thousands of ecstatic faces gazing up at you in worship. Yet here he was, waiting in the wings, while his replacement basked in their adoration instead.

And when Copia sang one of _his_ songs? Jealously clawed at his heart. The worst moment was hearing Cirice, the song that won him a Grammy, being performed by this…ursuper. But that wasn’t fair to Copia. He’d risked his own life to bring Marcelo back from the dead, and had done it with every intention of restoring the miter to him. Marcelo had been the one to refuse his title, instead giving Copia his blessing to become the next Papa. He thought he’d come to terms with it, but seeing Copia kneeling on stage, hand outstretched to serenade a fan while _his_ lyrics poured from his lips was heart breaking. That moment, more than any, drove home what he had lost.

 _It should have been me_ , he couldn’t help but think. His time in the sun had been so brief, when he had yearned for it all his life. It wasn’t fair.

But he buried his grief under anger, and every time his father took the stage Marcelo vowed once more to see him dead.

It was nearing the end of the set. Copia was in peak form tonight, but honestly the man gave one-hundred percent to every performance. Begrudgingly, Marcelo had to admit that when it came to showmanship the cardinal was his match, but at least it meant he was doing his legacy proud. Tonight he’d been all over the stage (and how was it that someone who moved around so much hadn’t once tripped or fallen during a set?), riling up the audience and interacting with the ghouls. Now as he paused between songs to catch his breath, he pulled something red and flimsy from his jacket collar to dab the sweat from his brow: a pair of panties. Marcelo had seen them fly onto the stage earlier, but had hadn’t seen Copia catch them. When the crowd recognized what it was they went wild, catcalling and begging to be fucked. Copia didn’t react, other than the tuck the panties back under his collar.

Undergarments and gifts thrown on stage weren’t that unusual. Marcelo forgot all about the panties until after the show when he stepped out of the bathroom in Copia’s dressing room and caught the man with his hand down his pants and face buried in red satin.

Marcelo froze, but Copia had already heard the bathroom door click open. He yanked this hand out of his pants like he’d been burned and crumpled the underwear in his fist. There was no hiding what he’d been doing, but he attempted to straighten his clothing. The outline of his growing erection was clear as daylight though his white pants. Marcelo didn’t bother to hide his staring.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.” Copia coughed to clear his throat.

“I ducked out early.” He didn’t always watch rituals in their entirety. Tonight he’d left before Square Hammer, not in the mood to hear it. He’d been in the bathroom when Copia had come in, and neither had heard the other. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

For all the fooling around they’d done (and damn, he hadn’t expected Imperator’s former suck-up sidekick of all people to be such fun in the sack), it was another thing entirely to walk in on him masturbating. It was a private moment, and Copia appeared embarrassed to be caught. That wouldn’t do.

Marcelo took off his ghoul mask, set it on the vanity, and pulled down his balaclava to his neck, shaking his hair free. He approached Copia like he was a nervous horse about to bolt if startled. Gently, he took Copia’s hand in his and pried his fingers open, and the wadded up fabric unfolded like a flower.

“So you like this?” Marcelo asked softly. Once he would have teased Copia relentlessly, not to shame him, but just to provoke a reaction. However, having grown to know him so intimately, he knew how surprisingly sensitive the man could be about certain things. “Don’t be shy. You can tell your Papa.”

“Yeah…” Copia confessed, his face as red as the panties.

“What a lovely lady to give you such a gift. I am sure she would be pleased to know you enjoy it.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of Copia’s mouth. “Sorry I interrupted. Keep going please?”

Copia side eyed him. “It’s weird now.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying the show. Or do you prefer a little more audience participation?” He reached down with his other hand and gave Copia’s cock a firm squeeze. Copia moaned in response and widened his stance, giving Marcelo better access.

Taking that as a yes, he slipped his hand under Copia’s waistband to fondle him, feeling him grow. He wasn’t wearing any underwear; no surprise, given how tight and thin the material was. Any kind of underwear would leave lines. The ladies in the audience hadn’t been the only ones admiring how little these pants left to the imagination, but none of them had the first hand knowledge Marcelo did that what they could see was only the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

Fully aroused Copia was so well endowed it made Marcelo’s jaw ache, literally. He would never admit it, but that was part of the reason they hadn’t had anal sex yet: as hungry as he was to take Copia for a ride, he was woefully out of practice bottoming, and didn’t want to embarrass himself trying. Sure he could have topped, but Copia had seem…hesitant? nervous? the one time Marcelo had brought it up. Not wanting to press the issue, they’d stuck to other methods of getting off, and Marcelo hadn’t had so much sex that didn’t involve sticking his dick in someone since he was a teen. It was actually very enjoyable, seeing what all they could do to please each other with only hands and mouths. On one memorably sticky occasion post ritual they’d made out and dry humped until they both came in their pants.

Marcelo didn’t exactly know what to call their relationship. Friends with benefits didn’t adequately convey the bond between them. Lovers implied a romantic component, and they had skipped romance to go straight to BJs and living together. Whatever you called their relationship, it was very sexual, but truth be told Marcelo was ready to spice things up a bit. The panties were just the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

He pressed up along Copia’s side from chest to hip and nibbled the shell of his ear, tasting the sweat from his exertions on stage. “I want to see you enjoy yourself. Do not be embarrassed; there is no shame in embracing your desires.” He raised their still joined hands back to Copia’s mouth, and to his delight Copia kissed the red satin.

Marcelo grinned wickedly. “Are they worn?”

“Yesss…” Copia hissed and the confession sounded like it was pulled out of him.

Marcelo rewarded him with another squeeze, and by now Copia was so erect the head of his cock peaked out over his waistband, looking as tempting and mouthwatering as ripe fruit. Marcelo wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees and suck it into his mouth, to lick at the slit until it spurted all over his tongue, but he knew it would be worth it to resist.

Instead, he drew the panties back and forth across Copia’s lips. “Does the lady smell good?”

“ _Fuck yes_.”

Marcelo let him get one good inhale before taking them away. He withdrew his hand from Copia’s pants so he could hook his thumbs into the underwear’s legs holes, examining them. Whoever had owned them had been blessed by Satan, judging from the cut of the waist. Marcelo could just imagine the generous curves that had once filled them out. Nice. “So is it just the scent, or do you like more about it? The way they look? How they feel? These are satin, I think.”

Suddenly impatient, Copia shoved his pants down over his hips, and his erection swung free. He spat on his palm, then took himself in hand with a groan of relief. Whatever shame he’d had before was gone as he spread his saliva over the shaft and started to stroke.

“That’s it,” Marcelo purred. He brought the panties back up to Copia’s mouth, who closed his eyes and buried his face in them. One handed, Marcelo unzipped his own fly and started to rut against Copia’s bare hip. He leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Have you ever worn any?”

“Oh fuck.” Copia moved his hand faster.

“I bet you’d look pretty in lace,” he said and bit into the column of his neck.

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ve worn some. I have…things as home,” said Copia, his voice muffled by the panties.

Marcelo moaned, imagination running wild. “You have hidden depths, Cardinal. When we return home you will have to show me.” He moved behind Copia to grind against his ass instead. The man had an absolutely fantastic ass, meaty enough to grab onto and with a set of legs that just didn’t quit. All they needed were some stockings, the old fashioned kind with the seam up the back, and a garter belt to hold them up and frame that ass…

“What do you have?”

“Huh?” Lost in his pleasure Copia didn’t seem to follow the conversation.

“What do you have at home? Tell me.” Marcelo emphasized his demand with a thrust up the crease of Copia’s asscheeks.

“Just a few different pairs. Mostly, ah, black, but there’s a white one and a blue one. They’re silk.” His eyes were closed and he panted, open mouthed into the fabric Marcelo was dragging across his lips and chin.

No stockings. A shame, but that just meant Marcelo could gift him a set, which was even better. “Do you wear then when you touch yourself?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice husky. “I like how it feels on my skin.”

“I bet you look gorgeous in them. You will have to dress up for me some time.”

Copia whimpered, but Marcelo wasn’t fooled. However shy Copia played at, the man was an exhibitionist. It takes one to know one, after all, and Marcelo was just as guilty when it came to performing. There had always been a sexual element in his rituals, and more than one show he’d left the stage hard from the thrill of that many eyes on him. Copia was no different, he was discovering, and the thought of him dressing up for his Papa’s pleasure was exciting for both of them.

“Maybe I’ll put on something special for you too, hmm? Would you like that?”

“Please,” Copia begged, voice ragged. He must have been pretty on edge, because Marcelo could tell he was already nearing climax. Over his shoulder Marcelo watched his fist fly over his cock, which had started to leak. He pulled the panties way from Copia’s face to rub them against the head of his dick, leaving little dark red wet spots behind.

Copia shook his head. “I’ll ruin them. They won’t smell like her anymore.”

“No, they’ll smell like _both_ of you. Like you were bad and fucked her without a condom, and when she put her panties back on the mess you left inside her dripped back out and ruined them.”

It was absolutely filthy, but it must have done the trick because Copia stiffened and let out a shuddering gasp as he came all over the underwear and Marcelo’s hand. Marcelo gave him a moment to catch his breath and then wiped up the mess with the dry part of the underwear. Copia jerked from the overstimulation to his still sensitive penis, and one last drop of cum seeped down the head. Marcelo blotted it away, then wadded up the panties to shove them into his own pocket.

Marcelo wasn’t anywhere near orgasm, but he let himself enjoy a few more slow thrusts against Copia’s plush ass before tucking himself back into his pants with some difficulty. There would be time for round two back at the hotel. He wrapped his arms around Copia’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“Feel better?”

“Much.” Copia pulled up his pants and tugged his clothing back into some semblance of order. He still looked freshly fucked, but by now everyone knew what he and Special got up to after rituals. “What about you?”

“I’m fine, I’ll take care of it later. This was for you.” He let go of Copia with a parting kiss to his neck and picked up his ghoul mask. He pulled his balaclava back over his head, tucked his hair into the sides, and settled the mask back in place. He checked his reflection in the vanity to make sure everything was covered. “C’mon, let’s go check on everyone. I think the greenroom still had some sandwiches left.”

“Bah, sandwiches!” Copia scoffed. “When we get back to the hotel I am ordering room service. I want a good, hearty pasta. And some soup. French onion sounds good. Maybe a dessert, too.”

“Order some strawberries and cream, you can eat them off me. And then eat me.”

“Promises, promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fandom collective unconscious seems to be in agreement that Copia is a connoisseur of dirty panties, and while it is not my kink I do appreciate a man in pretty underthings, so have some lingerie fetishist Copia. This chapter also inspired by icegirl99’s “The Lingerie Experiment,” because we need more Copia in pretty panties. Gotta figure out if I can squeeze Papa into a corset somewhere in this fic, because that's where my real allegiance lies.


	3. If At First You Don't Succeed, Die, Die Again

Of course it wasn’t all fun and games and orgasms on tour. Officially, the point of touring was to spread the message of Lucifer and gain converts to the Satanic Church. Unofficially, Cardinal Copia was plotting to murder his boss with the help of his boss’ formerly dead son.

At first they kept it simple. The easiest way to off Papa Nihil was to cause an accident, and what would be more plausible than a fall down the stairs? Even if it didn’t kill him, a broken hip at his age would be the death of him eventually. Nihil always performed his solo in Swiss’ spot, so he had a few stairs to climb to get up the platform, but there was never a discreet opportunity to bump into him. One time they tried to booby trap the stairs by dumping out an entire water bottle on the steps and leaving it empty at the bottom, as if someone had accidentally kicked it over. Their newly summoned water ghoul slipped on the puddle instead, earning him the name Rain. After that they decided to be more careful, since any trap they lay could just as easily ensnare a ghoul or stagehand. With the stair plan trashed, they had to get more creative.

Papa had the bright idea to poison the reed in Nihil’s saxophone. It was perfect, because no one else ever touched it, keeping innocent bystanders safe, and they knew exactly when and where he would ingest the poison. That night Special ghoul was the one to do Nihil’s sound check, and he swapped out the old reed for the poisoned one.

During Miasma, Marcelo watched backstage with bated breath, but there was no immediate reaction. The rest of the set he and Copia waited on eggshells for the poison to take effect, but by the end of the ritual Nihil was still going strong. In the car back to the hotel he was chatty as ever, so Copia casually mentioned that his solo had sounded particularly wonderful tonight.

“How kind of you to notice, Cardinal! I changed out the reed right before I went on stage. I’d been meaning to do it for days, but I kept forgetting. Lucky for me I remembered when I heard you talking about my sax to Special, eh?” He’d given Copia a pat on the back, never noticing his gobsmacked face.

Later that night they lay post coital in Copia’s king size hotel bed, talking. Papa had lit a cigarette, though the hotel had a no smoking policy. Copia hadn’t known Papa smoked, until he realized he only ever saw him light up after sex.

“What about poisoning a cigarette?” Copia suggested as he watched the blue smoke stream from Papa's mouth. It was a disgusting habit, especially for a vocalist to have (and in Copia's not-so-humble opinion the reason his voice was better), but damn did the man’s lips look good around a cigarette.

Papa snubbed it out in the empty water glass on the bedside table. “Imperator doesn’t let him smoke anymore.”

“Well, he’s been bumming smokes off Ember after shows.”

In a sudden fit of energy Papa sat up and punched his pillow. “How in the fuck is he still alive? He’s on oxygen for Satan’s sake!”

“Oh, there’s an idea: sabotage the oxygen tank.”

“What if we swapped out the oxygen for helium?”

“Is that lethal?”

“No, but it would be fucking hysterical.” Papa grinned.

Copia snorted, then burst into giggles as he pictured it in his head. Papa started laughing too, and for a couple minutes they giggled like idiots unable to stop.

“Okay, okay, enough,” Papa gasped, catching his breath. “We've tried pushing him down the stairs and poisoning him; what’s next?”

“What about a sedative? Like how he got you and your brothers? A little poetic justice, eh?”

But Papa didn’t look pleased by the idea. “No. We’ll find another way.”

Copia tilted his head. “Are you…having second thoughts?”

“No. I just…don’t want to think about how it happened. Besides, a sedative is too good for him.” Papa thought for a moment. “I still think the poison is a good idea.”

“We could do a slow poison. A little bit at a time in his food, like that one lady who put rat poison in her husband’s coffee grounds.”

“Then’d we’d have to haul around a bag of rat poison for half the tour, and I don’t want to be the one with the murder weapon in my luggage, do you?”

“Good point. What about a drug overdose?”

So they tried cocaine next. Papa Nihil still liked to party, so it was easy enough to make sure he did one too many lines, and then BAM. Overdose. Except he was still alive after doing enough blow to kill an elephant. At the next party they tried speed, because surely speed would give him a heart attack. But no matter what they gave him, he just…kept going. Fucked up beyond all belief and incoherent, but somehow still alive despite the soup of substances in his veins.

“It’s no good: years of partying have given him an immunity. He’s probably got the cure for cancer and AIDS in his blood, too!” Papa threw his hands in the air.

They were running out of time and ideas. At one point they even tried to engineer an electrical accident ( _“This light board has a red button that just says ‘death.’” “Why do we have a ‘death’ button? What brand is this, Acme?” “I don’t know, try pressing it.” “Never mind, it’s an emergency kill-switch for the whole light rig. Oops.”_ ) but gave up when they realized neither of them knew shit about electronics and were just as likely to electrocute themselves as their intended target.

Then before they knew it half a year had passed, and they were no closer to killing Nihil than before.

* * *

“Six months. _Six months_ and that bastard is still alive!”

They were back home. The abbey hadn’t changed in the time they’d been away. A few new siblings, and the pews was a bit fuller during black mass from the recent converts, but otherwise it was the same. It was a relief to be back home on familiar ground, but neither Copia nor Papa could fully relax. For all their planning, Nihil was still alive.

The second European leg of the tour was about to start on Walspurgis. Tensions were high, and the break was barely enough time to recharge their energy, but it wasn’t really a vacation. Copia was still swamped in work, though he forced himself to delegate as many tasks as possible to the various clerks employed by the Church. Being a control freak and perfectionist it was hard, but there was no way he could do it all, even with Special’s help. Papa encouraged him to relax too, and instead of holing up in his office they spent most of their evenings in the bedroom, drinking wine, getting off, and desperately trying not to think about the dangerous line they were walking.

It was late in the evening. At the moment Copia was in his old, comfortable armchair, feet up on the ottoman, dressed in his bathrobe. He was nursing a glass of wine while he watched Papa pace from one end of the living room to the other. He had a nice buzz going and Papa was ruining it. Normally he would be the one pacing anxiously while Papa reassured him, but the issue of his father agitated him like nothing else.

“Six months and four continents. We even tried blowfish!”

While in Japan they had gone out to eat at one of the nicest restraints in Chiba. Nihil hadn’t a clue what anything was on the menu, so Copia had “generously” ordered for him, including a particular delicacy the establishment was known for: blowfish. Satan willing, a tiny bit of the poisonous organs would escape the chef’s knife and end up in Nihil’s dish, but they’d had no such luck.

“That one was a bit of a stretch,” Copia admitted. “The restaurant was far too high a quality to mess up something like that.”

“Or maybe they did, and Nihil is just immune to every poison and drug known to man.” Papa collapsed onto the couch like a Victorian lady with a fit of the vapors. He’d always been a dramatic little shit, and Copia was tipsy enough to find it funny instead of irritating. He must have laughed, because Papa shot him a glare.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

“Pa—" Copia stopped himself. " _Marcelo_. We still have plenty of time. Have faith that we will find a way through this. Like you keep telling me, Satan would not have brought you back if all this was to end in failure.” He stood up, and he must have had more wine than he’d thought because the room spun for a moment. He joined Papa on the couch and patted his hair. Papa really did have lovely hair. “There, there.”

“Stop patronizing me, I’m a grown man.”

“Have some wine.”

Papa wrinkled his nose like a petulant child, but didn’t argue. Instead of getting his own glass, he finished Copia’s in one gulp.

Copia sighed. “I’ll just go get the bottle, shall I?”

So they got drunk. Drunker than Copia had been in a long time, and he knew he’d regret it in the morning, but he didn’t care. They sat on the floor with their backs against the couch, the empty bottles beside them, leaning on each other to stay upright. Despite his earlier mood Papa was a happy drunk, and he flirted outrageously with Copia just for the pleasure of it. Maybe it was the wine, but Copia found him especially charming and funny tonight. One particular story about a ritual gone wrong on the Unholy Unplugged tour had him nearly rolling on the floor in laughter.

They must have been too loud, because suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Boss? Are you busy?”

Copia froze. “That’s Aether—quick, hide.”

Papa jumped up to run to the bedroom, but tripped over the empty wine bottles. He fell into the end table, knocking it and Copia’s stained glass table lamp over. There was a horrendous crash as the lampshade shattered, and Papa shrieked as he landed right in the shards.

Aether banged on the door louder. “Cardinal?! Are you alright?!”

“Yes, just a second!” Copia shouted. Adrenaline sobering him up, he rushed to Papa’s side to help him stand. Some of the glass had cut right through Papa’s lounge pants and ground the pieces into his knees when he landed. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” he wheezed, gritting his teeth, but when he tried he stumbled. Blood was starting to drip down his legs.

“Cardinal, if you don’t open this door I’m coming in!”

Copia’s head whipped around to the door, then back to Papa. “It’s no good, I’ll have to carry you.”

It was a stupid idea. If Copia had been sober he would have realized that helping Papa walk would still be faster, but he was panicking. He scooped Papa up under his shoulders and knees, and shit, Papa was heavier than he looked. He staggered under his weight for a moment, unsteady.

And that was when Aether kicked open the door.

Copia could only imagine how the scene must have looked to Aether: the knocked over furniture, the broken glass, and standing in the middle of the destruction was Copia, holding Papa Emeritus III bridal style. Even without his skull paint, there was no way Aether wouldn’t recognize exactly who was in Copia’s arms.

Aether froze. “…Papa?”

Papa swallowed. “Close the door, Aether.”

Without tearing his eyes away Aether shut the door behind him, but it didn’t latch. He’d broken the lock when he’d kicked in the door. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, my ghoul. You are awake.”

Aether looked to Copia, who nodded, and then all at once the ghoul was rushing at them, headless of the glass crunching beneath his shoes. Papa flinched, but all Aether did was grab them both in a huge bear hug, Papa squished between them.

“Oh Papa! I’m so glad you’re okay!” The ghoul started to cry.

Copia cleared his throat, but Aether didn’t hear him over his sobs. “Aether. He’s getting heavy.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Aether backed off, and gratefully Copia dropped Papa onto the couch. Immediately the ghoul threw himself back into Papa’s arms, sniffling and rubbing his masked face into Papa’s chest like a big affectionate cat.

“I’ll just…” Copia waved at the mess on the floor, “…get something for this.” He left to fetch a dust pan from under the kitchen sink and to give the two a moment.

“Help me to the bathroom, Aether. I need to clean up.”

“ _Belial_ , what happened to your knees?!”

As Aether carried Papa to the bathroom, Copia cleaned up the sitting room. He righted the table, picked up what was left of the lamp, and threw the glass into a wastebasket. When he’d gotten all the pieces he could see, he swept the area, then wiped down the floor with a damp towel until he was satisfied he could safely walk barefoot. Then he dragged a chair over to the door and jammed it under the doorknob to keep it closed. It would have to do for now, until he could get it repaired in the morning.

When he entered the bathroom Papa was sitting on the counter bare from the waist down as Aether plucked bits of glass out of Papa’s knees. He was using his claws like tweezers. Every so often he would pour a cup of water over the wounds to flush them, and Papa would hiss so loudly he sounded like a ghoul with its tail caught in a door.

“I think I got all of it, but you should really go to the infirmary. This could get infected.”

Eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared, Papa shook his head. “ _Nooo_ , no one can know I’m alive. Just... clean it, put an antibiotic on it, and wrap it. That’ll be good enough.”

Aether nodded and gave the wounds one last rinse before patting them dry to apply the medicine. At the first touch of the antibiotic ointment Papa winced, then relaxed as the numbing agent in it started to take affect.

“What happened? We all thought you were dead.”

“I was.”

Aether jerked back. “Then…?” He looked back and forth between Papa and Copia. “Boss..." he whispered, voice wavering. "... _what did you do?_ ”

“Something I should not have survived,” Copia admitted.

“Who all knows?”

“Undine, they helped me with the ritual. Some other ghouls witnessed it when they felt the energy of the spell." He struggled to remember their names, head swimming from two glasses and a full bottle of merlot. "Frost. Wisp. Spark. Clover and Minnow. Um. Squall. Bedrock might have been there and won’t admit to it, but she’s the quiet type anyway. And now you.”

“None of us?” Aether sounded hurt, and Copia knew he meant the band ghouls.

Papa shook his head. “No. When Imperator ordered me and my brothers killed, it was ghouls that did it, but I don’t think they were any I knew. It had to be some of the newly summoned ones.”

Aether froze. “You think it was someone in Ghost.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Papa sighed. “I just can’t imagine any ghoul I knew doing it. I loved them all dearly. Maybe it was arrogant to assume they all loved me back.”

Aether placed his hand lightly on Papa’s bandaged knee. ”Hey. What happened with Alpha wasn’t your fault. And I’m sorry it cost you Omega, but I can’t be sorry it happened, because otherwise I never would have had the chance to serve as clergy. We _do_ love you, and I can honestly say it was an honor to play with you, Papa.” He turned to Copia. “No offense, Boss. You’re still my favorite.”

“None taken.”

While he had the foresight to think of it, Copia poured both himself and Papa a tall glass of water and handed him some ibuprofen. Hopefully that would help lessen the pending hangover. Now bandaged and medicated, Papa gingerly scooted off the bathroom counter, but before he could so much as take a step he was swept back up into Aether’s arms.

“Where do you want him, Boss?”

“The bed is fine. It’s late.”

“‘He’ is capable of speaking for himself,” Papa said indignantly.

“Yes, but not walking.”

“I can definitely walk!” said Papa with the confidence of the not at all sober.

Gently, Aether laid Papa on Copia’s bed. He pulled down the duvet and tucked it around him.

“You know, this isn’t exactly how I imagined you taking me to bed,” Papa quipped as Aether fluffed his pillow.

“You imagined it?”

“Ghoul, I would have had to be blind and stupid not to. You have arms like a lumberjack and thighs like…like…big smoked hams.” Drunk Papa was evidently not the most eloquent. “I totally get why Copia’s always grabbing ‘em on stage.”

Aether cocked his head. “Papa? How long have you…been back?”

“About half a year,” Copia answered.

Aether whipped around. “Half a year?! You’ve been hiding Papa in your rooms for half a year?! Keeping him like…like a pet!”

Papa punched Aether’s shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous, I haven’t been stuck here. I’ve been on tour with you.”

Aether froze. “Oh sweet Satan, you’re Special. Oh wow. That…explains a lot.” He looked between Papa and Copia as the implications of Special’s identity set in. “Wow. So you two are…?”

He made a gesture that could have meant anything from sex to lassoing a horse. He was obviously expecting an answer like “together” or “fucking,” but Copia didn’t know what to say. Truth be told he was curious what Papa considered them to be, too.

“Partners,” said Papa, and Copia’s heart pounded in his chest. ”We are working together to ensure Copia becomes the next Papa.”

Ah.

“That reminds me,” said Aether. “I actually came here for a reason. The designers finished the chasuble mock up. They wanted to know if you were available in the morning to come for another fitting before they begin production.”

“Of course. But after I get my door fixed.”

Aether winced. “Sorry. I head a crash, and you didn't answer. I was worried. But you’re okay, and Papa’s okay, too. I’ll head out and let you both sleep.”

“Nooo, stay,” Papa whined and grabbed onto Aether’s sleeve. It was clear the alcohol was still in his system, and now that the pain medication had kicked in he was back to his earlier drunken antics. “I’ve missed you, Aether. I mean, I know I’ve _seen_ you, but you didn’t see me. There’s been a mask between us.” He tugged on Aether’s sleeve until the ghoul sat on the bed.

“Let me see you, Aether. You can take off the mask.”

Aether’s eyes darted to Copia, who nodded. He removed his mask. There was a split second where the glamour struggled to hold the illusion, and Aether's face was flesh toned but blurred and indistinct. Then the spell faded, and Aether’s features emerged.

“There’s my good ghoul.”

Papa leaned in and kissed him. Aether kept his mouth closed, but tilted his head to meet the kiss.They parted with a wet smack and there was a lovely lavender flush to Aether’s grey cheeks.

“Papa. You’re drunk.”

Papa sighed loudly and rested his forehead against Aether’s broad chest. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. Can you just…stay the night? We don’t have to do anything. I just miss you. I miss everyone.”

Copia eyed the bed, doing the math. There was no way he, Papa, and a ghoul the size of Aether were going to fit. Aether seemed to realize it as well.

“Just until you fall asleep. Then I’ll move to the couch, and if anyone asks I’m guarding the door since it broke last night.” He made himself comfortable leaning against the headboard, Papa resting against his chest. Eventually as Papa grew more relaxed he shifted to lay more on the bed, his head pillowed in Aether’s lap.

“Scratch my head, please.” At least that’s what Copia assumed he said, because Aether started running his claws delicately through Papa’s hair over his scalp. It sounded like more “htch mm hhd plz” since Papa’s face was mashed into Aether’s thigh. He let out a few muffled groans before going quiet. When he started snoring Aether judged it was safe to leave and gently shifted Papa’s head to a pillow.

Copia dug out a spare blanket and passed it to Aether. “Will you be comfortable out on the couch?”

“I’ll be fine. You humans are always so worried about comfort. Ghouls are tough, we sleep on the ground in Hell, you know.”

“I have literally seen you steal our dirty laundry to make a big pile in your bunk on the bus.”

“Just because we _can_ sleep on dirt doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate the finer things in life. Besides, that’s different, I was denning.” He took a whiff of the blanket Copia had given him. “Mmm. It smells like you and Papa.”

“Really? It’s clean, it was washed recently.” Copia grabbed a corner and sniffed it himself, and boy he must still be pretty drunk if he was sniffing laundry with Aether. It smelled clean to him. “What’s it smell like?”

“The incense you burn. Cigarette smoke. Sex. Kind of salty, and kind of…warm? I don’t know how to describe it. Like fresh baked bread. It’s nice. I’ll sleep just fine on the couch with it.”

“Let me know if you need anything. And Aether?” He waited until Aether turned to look at him. “Thank you. For…being you, I guess. Its hard to know who Papa and I can trust right now. I’m really glad you are one of them.”

Without the mask in the way, for once Copia got to watch the fanged smile spread across Aether’s face. “Sure thing, Boss.”

Copia locked the bedroom door behind him and slipped into the bed where Aether had been, Papa tucked against his side.

* * *

In the morning, Marcelo woke to an empty bed and a hangover. He lay in bed until the urge to urinate forced him up. After what felt like the world’s longest piss, he washed his hands and lay back down. He had no idea if Copia’s front door was still broken or not, or if it was getting fixed right then. With nothing better to do, he let himself drift back to sleep.

When he next opened his eyes his head was feeling better and the square of light from the window had moved across the floor. He heard the bathroom door open and Copia walked out.

“Good morning. The door’s fixed, so its safe to come out.”

Copia handed Marcelo a glass of water, who took it gratefully. His mouth felt like he’d swallowed a desert. “Aether’s gone?” He tried not to sound disappointed.

“He left after the latch was replaced. I had to go to the fitting with the seamstress, but he stayed to guard the door and make sure no one decided to sneak a peek to see who was in my bed.”

“Does not everyone know about Special?” He finished off the water and set the empty glass on the nightstand. Yawning, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and picked at the bandages on his knees. Lifting up the corner, he saw bruises forming, but the cuts themselves were scabbing over nicely, no swelling or signs of infection.

“Oh, they do. But you hardly every leave my room or office, and never go down to the catacombs, plus no one can account for you prior to the tour.” Copia dug around in his dresser and tossed Marcelo a change of clothing. “There are rumors I summoned you just to be my, eh, sex slave. Some are even saying you must be an incubus, and not a real ghoul. Aether was telling me that people have been pestering the band for more information about Special. The gossip is rampant.”

Marcelo frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know." Copia's lips thinned. "I don’t appreciate speculation about my private life, and my ghouls know that. They’ve been trying to spare me the worst of it.”

While Marcelo dressed, Copia thought about everything Aether had told him this morning. As future Papa, many within the ministry were eager to earn his favor, but the cardinal had proven disappointingly unreceptive. He wasn’t ignorant to the motives behind the sudden influx of invitations he’d received, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Aside from fulfilling his religious duties, he did not partake in certain sins to the same degree his predecessors had (the Emeritus men were known for their appetites). It made his growing list of admires curious: if none of _them_ had caught the Cardinal’s eye, than who had? According to Aether, the name that was being bandied about more and more was Special’s, the mysterious ghoul who was only ever seen at Copia’s side. By virtue of his association with Copia, people were taking notice of Special and how many unanswered questions surrounded him.

“I don’t like this interest in you. It makes it more likely your identity will be uncovered.”

Papa was a consummate actor, but his disguise was never meant to hold up under close scrutiny. They had been relying on distance from the abbey to shield him, but now that they were home everyone wanted to see for themselves the ghoul Copia had taken on tour allegedly just to warm his bed.

“Perhaps it would not hurt to cultivate the incubus rumor. It would explain why I do not have certain ghoulish traits.” 

“I think you could fake being an incubus even worse than a ghoul.”

“I could pull it off better than you think,” Papa muttered, pulling on his balaclava.

Copia blinked. “You mean…”

“There is some truth to the rumors regarding my mother’s heritage. She wasn’t full blooded, but the traits tend to breed true. It was one of the reasons why my father chose her.”

Even as high ranking clergy, Copia could count on one hand the number of actual cambions he'd met. They had each looked drastically different, but all were beautiful and powerful. One had even worn a Venetian mask enchanted with a glamour to contain their hypnotic allure. Papa was by far the most human looking of them all, but now that Copia knew what to look for it seemed obvious. The man’s magnetism went beyond physical appearance and was an almost tangible thing. “What can you do?”

“Very little, to be honest. No shapeshifting, unfortunately. But I have a few tricks,” he winked, and Copia noticed he did not actually answer the question.

“So what do we do about the rumors?”

Dressed except for his mask, Papa picked it up and studied his reflection in its polished chrome surface. “I think it’s time to tell the ghouls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy, Drunk Papa nearly talked me into a threesome with Aether, but I didn’t want the chapter to get delayed by trying to fit in a smut scene. I'm aiming for one or two more smut chapters before this part in the series wraps up.
> 
> Still stuck on a first name for Copia, and I'm open for suggestions. Maybe he just doesn't like his first name, and since he doesn't have a lot of friends he mostly goes by his last name anyway? He starting to call Papa Marcelo more though. After living with him for so long he's starting to think of him more as Marcelo and less as His Dark Excellency. 
> 
> Big thanks to the GhostBC Fandom Events Discord group for suggesting ridiculous ways for the boys to try killing Nihil. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.


	4. The Guilty Ghoul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a vacay from the Ghost fandom to ~EnTeR tHe MaTrIx~ 20 years late, but I'm back.
> 
> I'm not totally satisfied with this chapter, but I got tired of sitting on it. Its 100% plot and no fun, but it had to be done to move the story along.

They argued about it for a whole week.

Copia had never been in an argument with a romantic partner whom he also lived with. It was awful, especially since Papa couldn’t even storm out in a huff, confined as he was to Copia’s rooms. Since Aether had informed Copia of the congregation’s curiosity over his relationship with Special, Copia had insisted Papa not leave his rooms for fear of running into a nosy Sibling of Sin. Papa had acquiesced begrudgingly, seeing the sense in it, but not wiling to admit Copia was right. He made his displeasure known with every opportunity to bring up the issue of whether to tell the band of his return, but every time their argument went in circles.

On the one hand, telling the band would help alleviate some of the interest in Special if they knew to deflect questions about him. On the other, the chances were high that they would trust the wrong ghoul with the secret of Papa’s return.

“You said it yourself that it was one—or more!—of the band ghouls who murdered you and your brothers in the first place, but we have no way of knowing which one until it’s too late,” said Copia. “Besides, three can keep a secret if two are dead. Technically, you and Undine don’t count as alive.”

“That is complete bullshit!”

“Papa, _not so loud_.” Copia’s door was heavy oak, but sounds carried in the abbey. He grabbed Papa’s hand to drag him into the bedroom (he could shout all he wanted in there), but Papa yanked his hand back, irritated.

“The secret is already out anyway! How long before one of the ghouls in the woods that night lets something slip?”

“Exactly!” Copia buried his face in his hands, smearing his eye paint. “You didn’t even want to tell the ghouls at first, now you are saying we should tell more? How is it we swapped positions on this?”

“That was before Aether. Now that I know at least one band member can be trusted, it’s different. What we need are allies.”

Papa wasn’t wrong, and Copia was tired of fighting.

“It can’t stay a secret forever,” Papa continued. “We are only buying time. The way I see it, this will happen one of two ways. Either we succeed in killing my father, you become the next Papa, and use your power of office to get rid of Sister Imperator. Or: Imperator finds out what we are planning, and I don’t know about you, but I’d like to have an army of ghouls standing between her and us if that happens.”

“Alright, you win. But don’t be smug about it!” Copia jabbed a finger into Papa’s chest. “When all this goes ass over tits, Satan help me, you better be alive so I can say ‘I told you so!’”

“Never fear, Cardi, I have a brilliant plan,” said Papa smugly.

Apparently, the brilliant plan was to to get Aether and Undine to help come up with a plan.

After consulting with the two ghouls, they decided it would be safest to inform the band one ghoul at a time, with all four of them present, and use the opportunity to try to uncover the identities of the assassins.

Copia would summon a ghoul to his room under the pretense of speaking about the upcoming tour. Then Special would remove his mask, and hopefully the ghoul’s reaction to Papa’s presence would give away their guilt or innocence. Undine and Aether would be present, but hidden in case the ghoul tried to attack or escape when confronted. Aether had argued for more to be there, but Undine had been insistent that too large a gathering, repeated six times for each band member, would be impossible to keep quiet. Secrecy was still their greatest weapon, and reluctantly Aether had given in to the older ghoul’s wisdom. They decided to tell Rain first, because all of them agreed that the young water ghoul, although newly summoned, was the least likely to be a threat.

They were right. Rain was shocked and confused, but not afraid. He listened with amazement, then growing horror, as Copia explained Papa’s resurrection and the truth of how Nihil’s sons had died.

At the end, he turned to Aether. “Is this true?”

“Every word.”

Rain nodded. “Then I’ll help you. I still can’t believe it was any ghoul in Ghost, but I promise not to speak of what I’ve learned. It wasn’t right, how it happened.”

Two down, five to go.

They told Swiss next. With Aether, Undine, and Rain hidden in Copia’s bedroom (because no way was Rain being left out, what if they needed help?), Special ghoul removed his mask, and Swiss just about jumped out of his.

“Your Unholiness?!”

Papa spread his arms. “In the flesh.”

Swiss whirled around to face Copia. “Is this some kind of joke?!”

“No! I swear to Satan, this is real.” Hurriedly, he explained everything, and by the end of it Swiss was ready to drag Papa Nihil down to the dungeon to demand answers. It took Aether and Copia both to talk him out of it.

Out of everyone in the Ghost project, Swiss spent the most time with Nihil. They both played the saxophone, and on occasions when Nihil was feeling his age, Swiss had filled in for him on stage. They weren’t close exactly, since Nihil held with the old school belief that a ghoul’s purpose was to serve the clergy, not befriend them, but Swiss was the only ghoul Nihil had learned to pick out of a crowd and even used his chosen name (the other ghouls he couldn’t be bothered to remember). Learning Nihil had put his own personal agenda above the success of the Church and its unholy mission, felt like a betrayal of trust.

Mountain was next. They figured of all the ghouls, he was the most likely to not react poorly. By that same token, it also meant if he _was_ guilty, it would be hard to tell. Undine had vouched for him, but the nature of their relationship (friends and frequent fuck buddies) meant Undine could be biased. It was a gamble.

Luck was on their side. Unflappable as always, Mountain barely blinked at Special’s big reveal. He listened calmly to Copia’s explanation, and at the end he nodded. “I’d heard a rumor he was back. I figured if there was any truth to it, you’d tell me. And if there wasn’t, I wasn’t going to go around speaking of such things.”

Copia frowned. Had Undine secretly already told Mountain? “Where did you hear this rumor?”

“The catacombs. The stones and bricks of the abbey whispers many things to me. There are also rumors that all three sons have returned, and that you are a necromancer summoning spirits of vengeance. Others say you are a different force entirely. I take it these are not true?”

Copia shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. Then again, I also didn’t think I’d ever seen a man brought back from the dead.”

Four down, three to go, and it had been three ghouls who killed the Papas.

They decided on Cirrus next. 

Like before, Copia invited her in, and then Special removed his mask.

She cocked her head to the side, studying the human face that had been revealed. At length, she spoke. “Is Papa Emeritus II back, too?”

Copia tensed and looked at Papa.

“No. My brothers are still dead,” he said tersely.

“I see.” She turned to Copia. “I feel obligated to tell you that I was the one tasked with killing Papa Emeritus II.”

“What?” Papa took a step towards the ghuleh, but Copia held up his arm to block his way.

“Wait, let her speak.”

Papa shoved Copia away to get to Cirrus, but Copia grabbed him around the middle. “What’s there to hear? She confessed, she is guilty!” His white eye flashed dangerously.

Cirrus continued to address Copia as if he wasn't struggling to hold back a furious man ready to avenge his dead brother. “You have to understand. This was done for you, Boss. Sister Imperator knew you had the potential to lead the Church to greatness, but Papa Nihil would never have considered it as long as his sons were still alive. That’s why she summoned Cumulus and I.”

“To be assassins?!” Papa snarled, and Cirrus bristled and hissed like a cat.

“To protect Copia! We are his guards. Everything we do is to protect him and advance his interests. And yes, that includes removing the obstacles in his path to the papacy.” She looked at the arm Copia had wrapped protectively around Papa. “But I see that his priorities have…shifted somewhat.”

Then to their surprise, she removed her own mask and set it on the floor before kneeling before them, like a knight before her liege.

“Cardinal Copia. Sister Imperator may have summoned Cumulus and I, but we are loyal to you. If your wish is to defy her plans, then we will support you. All I ask is that if it comes to it, do not make us be the ones to execute her. We owe her our earth bound existence.”

Papa stopped fighting against Copia. “You can speak for Cumulus on this matter?”

“I do. I know her heart, and she is loyal as I am.”

“Did she kill Emeritus the First?”

Cirrus pursed her lips, then nodded. “I’m sorry. We never knew them, or you, but I saw how their deaths affected the Church. I cannot imagine your pain, and I am sorry for my part in it.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it.” Papa shrugged off Copia’s arm, and walked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Copia let him go, and collapsed on the couch with a long drawn out sigh. Cirrus’ confession was a lot to process, and he imagined Papa wasn’t feeling very inclined towards forgiveness at the moment, vow or no vow. Hopefully Aether and Swiss, who had been waiting to pounce in case Cirrus attacked, could calm him down.

Their plan was working though. Like Papa had said, they had allies, and uncovered the identities of two of the killers. They had even learned some of Sister Imperator’s motive, although it brought more questions than answers.

Cirrus sat down next to him. She had replaced her mask, and her piercing predator eyes gentled as she looked at Copia. “You know, she loves you like a son. She only wants what’s best for you.”

If she loved him, she had a funny way of showing it, Copia thought but didn’t say that. “I am capable of judging that for myself, thank you.”

Raised voices could be heard coming from the bedroom, though the words were indistinct. One was recognizably Papa, the other probably Aether. There was a yelled exchange, and then silence.

“Don’t worry, he’ll calm down,” Copia said, patting her knee. “When he’s thinking clearly he won’t blame you for it. Imperator may have used you and Cumulus as her weapon, but she was the one who aimed and fired.”

“Boss,” Cirrus said softly, and something in her tone told Copia that he wasn’t going to like what she said next. “There’s something else you should know.”

* * *

Over the noise of the shower, Marcelo heard the bathroom door creak open. After fighting with Aether and getting chewed out for it by Swiss, Marcelo had felt cornered and retreated to the bathroom. Alone in the bathroom the tight feeling of dread in his chest finally bubbled over, and he turned on the shower to cover the sound of his sobs. Eventually his face was such a mess he decided he might as well get in and rinse off.

He’d stopped crying, but his eyes felt puffy and his head was throbbing. The hot water had been relaxing, but he’d been alone with his thoughts too long, replaying the same words over and over in his mind. He wanted to go to sleep and not wake up in a reality where his brothers were dead, his father was a monster, his bandmates were murders, and his friends didn’t care.

“Papa?”

Even Copia had taken Cirrus’ side over his. And if he didn’t have Copia, what did he even have?

“Marcelo?”

He turned off the water. For a moment he stood there in the dripping shower stall, lost in thought, until Copia handed him a towel.

“Thanks,” he said mechanically. He didn’t dry himself off, just draped it over his shoulders. “Are Aether and Swiss still here?”

“No, they left with Cirrus. Aether said to tell you he was sorry, and Swiss said that he’d talk to you later. What did you say to them?”

“Nothing. I just thought it was shit that Aether didn’t seem all that bothered to learn that his friends killed my family. Swiss thought I was being an asshole, but whose the asshole here? I’m a fucking _murder victim_. I get that Cirrus and Cumulus were just doing what Imperator told them, right? I _know_ who the real villain is here! But am I not allowed to be pissed that Aether, my friend, thinks I should be perfectly fine around them since it wasn’t really their fault? Aether told me it wasn’t anything personal, _but it’s personal for me_.” The bubble of frustration that had been building up burst, and abruptly Marcelo’s face crumbled, and he felt tears threaten to spill over. He rubbed his eyes angrily. He’d indulged in enough weeping already, he didn’t need to cry in front of Copia, too.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and pushed passed Copia into the bedroom. It wasn’t that late, but he was tired. He sat on the edge of the bed, his wet hair dripping down his back, and shivered. “I’d like to be alone for a while.”

“Sure, sure.”

Copia bit his lip nervously. Cirrus’ confession echoed in his head like a broken record. His tongue shaped the words in his mouth, as if speaking them would purge the knowledge from his head. A burden shared was a burden halved, after all. But Marcelo was in a foul enough mood, and Copia dreaded his reaction, so he kept his silence.

It could wait until tomorrow.

* * *

Copia had been tip toeing around Marcelo all morning. Though an anxious person by nature, Marcelo noticed that he seemed particularly nervous over breakfast. Copia kept fumbling his fork and even broke a mug, then apologized excessively for the mess the entire time he cleaned it up. At first Marcelo had dismissed his behavior as the result of yesterday’s conversation with Cirrus, but the way Copia kept stealing looks out of the corner of his eye at him had Marcelo wondering if there was more going on.

“Is there something on my face?” he finally asked after once such look.

Copia choked a little on his cereal. “Huh? No, why would there be something on your face?”

“Because you keep staring at me, and usually when people stare at me they look overcome with lust, not nerves. There is clearly something on your mind, and if it concerns me I’d rather you just spit it out that sit there wringing your hands.”

Caught, Copia jumped up from the table to pace. Another nervous habit of his.

“I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you are worried about.”

“What?” Caught off guard, Copia stumbled on the edge of the rug.

Marcelo rolled his eyes. Swear to Satan, sometimes he couldn’t believe how such a bumbling oaf could be such a competent performer on stage. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. “I’m mad, but not at you. For holding me back last night, when Cirrus told us. You kept me from doing anything stupid. So…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Copia muttered.

Marcelo narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Copia sighed. “Can you play guitar? Wait, stupid question, of course you can. Can you play lead?”

Marcelo raised an eyebrow. “You realize I wrote almost everything on Meliora, including all the riffs. Yes, I can _play lead_ ,” he snipped.

“Oh good, because we are about to need a new lead guitarist. I guess when I told Sister Imperator I was bringing Special along in case of an emergency I wasn’t lying! Who knew?” His laugh held a touch of mania, like if he laughed too hard he wouldn’t be able to stop.

The bottom dropped out of Marcelo’s stomach. “And why are we about to need a new lead guitarist?” He asked.

Copia stopped pacing to take a deep, calming breath. “Because Cirrus told me that Ember did it.”

Marcelo's spine turned to ice. “You mean…”

“Yeah. He’s the last assassin.”

Neither moved or spoke for a long while, as Copia waited with baited breath for Marcelo to react to the news. Copia expected him to explode. To rage and throw things and cry. To pound his fists on the table or scream himself hoarse. Something

Instead he simply sat, staring at nothing as his coffee went cold.

“I know he’s the only ghoul we haven’t spoken with yet, but I had hoped…” Marcelo trailed off, searching for words. “I mean, I played with him. I didn’t think…it could be anyone I knew.”

Like Aether, Ember held a special place in Marcelo’s heart. He was one of the only ghouls in the current Ghost line up whom he had ever personally worked with, the other being Aether. During the Popestar tour fiasco, the feisty fire ghoul had been one of several summoned from Hell to audition to replace Alpha, but Ifrit had been chosen over him. Ember joined the Ghost project when their bassist Mist had decided that touring wasn’t for her, and thought bass wasn't his first choice he’d said it was better than ministry work. He’d been a good bassist, and he’d grown into an amazing lead guitarist, as Marcelo had witnessed on A Pale Tour Named Death. Though there was an old wound on his heart where Alpha’s betrayal sat, he was glad to see that the Ghost project had grown stronger with this fresh new set of ghouls and ghulehs. The fans certainly liked them, and Ember especially was a favorite with his onstage antics.

Which is why it was such a shame they would have to banish him back to Hell.

Marcelo grabbed his ghoul disguise and started to dress.

“We should wait until we are back on the road,” said Copia as Marcelo buttoned up his cassock. “If we banish him here, there will be too many questions. Sister Imperator will want to know why I didn’t go through the proper channels to get approval for a banishment. But on tour, I can claim, uh, _extenuating circumstances_ that meant it had to be done immediately without waiting on the conclave.”

“No. We do it now.”

“What? No, I just said—“

“I will not sleep another night under the same roof as my murderer. We banish him now.” He pulled on his balaclava, and Copia realized what Marcelo planned.

“Papa—“ he started, but Marcelo cut him off.

“Yes! Exactly! I am Papa, and I say we banish him now while we still can, if Cirrus hasn’t already betrayed us!”

“But you’re not Papa!” Copia shouted, and it was like a dagger to the heart.

_But you’re not Papa._

He’d admitted it to himself already. He’d come to terms with it, he thought. But he hadn’t realized until this moment that Copia had always spoken as if he was still head of the Church. And maybe, since Copia had continued to call him Papa, Marcelo had been able to fool himself, too.

“Not anymore,” Copia continued, oblivious to the storm brewing in Marcelo. “Because Ember killed you, and now you want to walk right up to him and cast a banishing circle, in the middle of breakfast, in front of Satan and everyone!”

Marcelo put on his mask. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, _Cardinal_.”

Copia grabbed his shoulder to stop him from leaving, and Marcelo twisted like a snake.

“Ḻ̷̂͂e̵͍͙̎t̴̗͈̤͋̊̀ ̶̼̞̋͐m̵̭͇͋e̷̛̳̮̤͑͆ ̶̲͐̾͠g̷̛͔͚̘ǒ̷̧͔̩͑,” he snarled, and Copia’s hand jerked back as if burned. Compelled by the spell, Copia could only watch as Marcelo went to his death, the door slamming shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that escalated quickly! Originally this chapter was going to include the confrontation with Ember, but it was getting too long and I'm still working out how that is going to go, so cliffhanger it is! UGH can't wait for all this drama to be over so we can get back to the smut.


	5. In the Garden of Good and Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter the time. Originally this part was going to be tacked onto the end of Chapter 4, but I had bad writers block for this scene, so I decided to just post what I had while I brainstormed how the Papa/Ember confrontation was going to play out.
> 
> Also, for the record Dew is called Ember in this fic. I read somewhere the person who coined the name uses it for an OC or something and doesn't really like that it's become the fanon accepted name, so I went with Ember instead. Never fear though, he is still everyone's favorite gremlin.
> 
> Warning for reference to past medical trauma (Papa III's embalming. Remember when his foot wiggled in the Pro Memoria video? Yeah.)

Eventually the spell wore off. Papa’s command to let him go was vague enough to extend beyond just grabbing his arm, and Copia had been unable to leave the room to pursue him until it was far too late to stop him. By the time his feet could pass the threshold without sticking, Papa had no doubt reached the catacombs and been torn to shreds by Ember. 

Like a tiger or bear, a ghoul could be tamed, but not domesticated. In the past the church had tried to bind them in different ways to ensure their good behavior around humans, but it almost always backfired. More stipulations in the spell meant more ways for it to be broken, and the ghouls had made a game of finding loopholes. Eventually it was decided to be easier (and safer) to let them keep their free will, bribe them into not eating anyone (unless given special permission), and pray to Satan for the best. For the most part, it worked, proving the old adage that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. 

Still, there had been…incidents over the years. A ghoul who grew too greedy and didn’t want to wait their turn on the feeding schedule. A lover’s spat between a human and their ghoulish lover gone wrong. A fight in the catacombs that turned deadly and spilled out into the main abbey. It was rare, since everyone knew the consequence for harming a human was banishment back to Hell (and no one wanted to contemplate what punishment might await the guilty ghoul there), but it happened. 

And now Marcelo was about to enter the lion’s den to trap the lion. 

However, as Copia ran down the hallways heedless of the spectacle he made, he didn’t hear the sounds of screams echoing up from the lower levels. He descended the steps to the catacombs two at a time, and when he reached the landing there was no scene of carnage and chaos. Only a few bewildered ghouls wondering why a frantic cardinal was in their territory.

Like the other humans in the abbey, Copia rarely entered the catacombs. It was the ghouls’ designated territory, where they could walk unmasked if they pleased. They lights were kept low and the air artificially humid with heaters and humidifiers to better simulate their natural environment (although strictly speaking ghouls didn’t have a physical body in Hell, so what it was meant to simulate was anyone’s guess). The air smelled of damp earth, sulfur, decaying plant matter, and raw meat. 

“He’s not here.”

Copia jumped. Standing in the doorframe of one of the tunnels was Mountain.

“Mountain! Have you seen P—uh, Special?” Copia was in such a panic he nearly blurted out the wrong name.

Mountain nodded solemnly. “I caught him in the halls on the warpath. He said he was looking for Ember.” By his tone and body language, Copia could tell Mountain had put the pieces together and realized why Papa was after Ember. “I told him Ember was in the tea garden.”

“Oh thank Satan.”

“Don’t thank me yet, I didn’t lie. I just figured that was a confrontation better had outside away from prying eyes. If you hurry you can probably catch him.”

“Thank you!” 

Copia ran back up the stairs, tripping a couple times, but managed not to break his face on the stone steps. The tea garden wasn’t far. He took a shortcut through the kitchen’s service entrance and blew past the kitchen staff, nearly colliding with a ghoul in a chef’s coat carrying a sack of flour as big as Copia. 

“Hey!”

“Sorry!” He didn’t stop to hear the ghoul’s grumbling, hitting the exit at a run. The door swung open with a bang and he made a hard left, past the main garden’s rows of crops, the greenhouses, and a handful of fruit bearing trees. Here the more practical part of the gardens, the part meant to feed the abbey’s full time inhabitants, transitioned into flowering ornamentals and landscaped pathways meant for form over function. Before him rose the tall hedges surrounding the tea garden, blocking his sight to whatever was happening inside.

When Copia skid to a stop outside the garden’s iron gate, he expected to be too late. In a way, he was. 

Past the artfully arranged rows of hemlock and belladonna, the focal point of the garden was a raised bed of wormwood, at the center of which was a stone plinth and statue of Lucifer. In the long shadow cast by the fallen angel’s wings stood Marcelo. His mask was in his hand, and before him lay Ember in a heap on the ground. 

Copia gagged. Both heads swiveled at the sound, and he slumped over the gate in relief.

“Boss?” Ember asked, sitting up. His voice was raw, like he’d been crying. 

Copia could have cried himself. When he’d seen Ember laying on the ground at Papa’s feet he’d assumed that he had succeeded in ripping the ghoul’s consciousness from his earthly body. He unlatched the gate and joined the pair in the garden. “What happened?”

“Ember and I have come to an understanding,” said Papa, replacing his mask.

“Ah,” said Copia, though that didn’t answer any of the questions he had. He sat down hard on a stone bench and ran his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes to block out the bright morning light. Already he could feel the stress headache building at his temples.

Something brushed against his leg. It was Ember, leaning against his calves, looking miserable. He butted his head against Copia’s knee, but Copia didn’t reach down to pet him like he normally would. 

“Ember was under the impression that the sedative was simply to ensure my brothers and I went without a fuss on our ‘farewell tour.’ Imperator tricked him.”

Although Ember hadn’t acted with malicious intent, Papa didn’t sound pleased by the news. He’d set out to take his pound of flesh, only to find another victim of Imperator’s machinations.

“And you believe him?”

Papa clenched his fist as his side. “…Yes.”

Ember clawed at Copia’s pant leg. “Copia, I swear to Satan I didn’t know! I was told it would just knock him out! It wasn’t supposed to kill anyone!”

“How do you figure that?” Copia asked, and if he sounded mean, well, sneaking up on someone to drug them, good intentions or not, was still pretty fucking bad. The road to Hell, and all that.

“Look, everyone knows Papa didn’t want to step down. So Imperator pulled me aside, told me that the Church was forcing him and Emeritus I and II on a farewell tour. Give them one last hurrah before retirement, you know? But Papa wouldn’t go along with it if he knew, so Imperator said she needed me and the ghulehs to slip in, stick them, and next thing they know they’re on a plane to America.” His fists tightened on Copia’s pants, and there were going to be ten little holes left from his claws. “And then I saw him in _a goddamned box._ ” He laughed bitterly. “Sister Imperator said she was impressed by my work. That if I wanted it, I could be the lead guitarist for the next cycle. But she had a job for me first.” He rested his horned head against Copia’s knee, and his shoulders shook with repressed sobs. “It wasn’t supposed to kill them.”

“You know, technically, she didn’t lie to you,” said Papa. He sounded calm, but Copia knew under that deceptively smooth facade there was a tempest. “The injection isn’t what killed me; the embalming process did. Your little sedative just made sure I couldn’t move or scream while they pumped me full of poisons.”

Ember ripped off his mask and lunged. Copia jumped to his feet to—what exactly? Throw himself at the ghoul? But Ember stumbled past him to vomit into a rosebush. That, more than anything, convinced Copia that Ember was telling the truth.

Papa glanced around. The morning was getting late. “We should get inside. Some Siblings saw me leave this morning. There will be talk of Special running out of your rooms.”

Copia winced. “I, ah, probably did not help matters then. I think I made a scene in the kitchen chasing after you.”

Papa groaned. “Fantastic. By lunch the ministry will be buzzing with rumors that we had a lover’s spat, and we don’t need that kind of attention.”

Ember wiped his mouth on his sleeve and blinked his vertical eyelids. “Oh. So that’s all a cover?”

Papa waved away the question. “Oh no, the fucking is very real. But it is also a convenient reason Special is rarely seen outside the Cardinal’s company. I do not live in the catacombs like other ghouls because I am in his bed, you see? Because I am special.” He winked.

Ember rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Okay, but what if we spread our own rumor? Like, you thought Copia was messing around with me during band practice, so you had a fight and came after me. I can say it was all just a misunderstanding, and now you guys are so busy having make-up sex that no one can bother you.”

“Get the heat off me and onto you instead.” Papa nodded. “It could work. Okie dokie then! Lets get inside before we gain any more eavesdroppers than we already have. I’m pretty sure some of the earth ghouls can talk to plants, and I don’t trust that rosebush not to snitch after what Ember just did all over it.”

“Can’t snitch if I burn it!” Ember turned to look at the privacy hedges. “You hear that? Or do I need to take care of the witnesses, too?” He snapped his fingers like a flint and steel to create a shower of sparks.

Copia steered him away from the boxwoods. “Ember, you can’t burn down the tea garden.”

“Fuck, fine, I’ll just hose it off,” he grumbled as he pulled his mask back on. “I’d be watering it, right? Plants like that shit, so that counts as a bribe.”

“I don’t think plants have a concept of bribes. Or think,” Copia said skeptically.

“Sometimes I don’t think _you two_ think. Get the fuck inside already, we have rumors to spread,” said Papa as he shooed them through the garden gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing Ember threatening plants, I realized I may have been subconsciously influenced by my recent binge of Good Omens. 
> 
> Next chapter we're back on the road! Time to see if I can squeeze in a rimjob scene.


End file.
